


Illuminate

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Restraint [3]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Established Relationship, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Photographs, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-17 10:17:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3525467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dino lies still for a moment, blinking dream-blurred appreciation at the way even the mess of his bedroom looks like something artistic and beautiful in the unusual lighting; then he rolls over, carefully so as not to disturb the still form against his back." Dino takes advantage of serendipitous lighting and Hibari takes advantage of that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illuminate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shiny_Pichu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiny_Pichu/gifts).



Dino isn’t trying to wake Hibari up. He blinked himself awake to the golden glow of morning sunshine spilling through the shut blinds, casting the whole room into a haze of the sort of beauty that only lasts for a handful of minutes before it fades and is gone. He lies still for a moment, blinking dream-blurred appreciation at the way even the mess of his bedroom looks like something artistic and beautiful in the unusual lighting; then he rolls over, carefully so as not to disturb the still form against his back.

Dino ought to have suspected what he sees. If the lighting makes the clutter of his room artistic, it will have an even greater effect on Hibari, who always looks like something of a model even under ordinary circumstances. He’s still not prepared, isn’t expecting the way the light turns Hibari’s hair ink-dark across the pillow and casts the pale of his skin pearlescent and nearly glowing. His lashes look thicker than usual, shadowy and heavy across the line of his cheekbones like they exist for the sole purpose of drawing Dino’s attention there, the sharp edge of collarbone against the edge of the blanket infused with so much temptation it’s worse than more skin would be. He looks like a sculpture, he looks like an angel, and when Dino looks away it’s only to reach for the camera pushed back at the corner of the nightstand.

Dino’s not trying to be secretive. There’s almost no thought that goes through his head, beyond breathless appreciation and the instinctive need to capture a record of this image before the light shifts and it is lost entirely. Dino isn’t a photographer, beyond a few blurred candid snapshots at parties that speak more to his intoxication than to whatever he was trying to photograph, but the light is as kind to the camera as it is to the setting, fills out the lines of the sheet until it looks like a frame and illuminates Hibari’s skin from the inside. The first picture is perfect right off the bat, framing precisely the angle Dino wanted to capture; even in the review screen it looks backlit, haloed with light and so clear he can see the individual strands of Hibari’s hair in the image. But he just keeps taking pictures, not even bothering to change the angle of the camera as much as taking the same perfect shot over and over and over, waiting for his breath to come normally and not surprised when it doesn’t.

From behind the lens of the camera, it takes Dino a moment to realize Hibari’s eyes are open. He doesn’t see the motion, has no evidence of action other than the shift of his eyelashes; it’s just in one shot there’s a dark sweep across cheekbones, and in the next there’s the odd blue-grey of Hibari’s gaze trained on Dino like the camera’s not there at all.

Hibari doesn’t ask what Dino’s doing. He doesn’t actually speak at all until Dino offers, “Morning,” without lowering the camera from in front of his eyes. Then he unfolds, shifting to sit up without any sign of self-consciousness at baring the pale skin of his chest to the potential of the camera. Dino doesn’t push the capture button, is frozen in place by Hibari’s consideration as the other reaches out to slide the camera from his hold, turns it around to consider the array of gold-lit pictures for himself. There’s no reaction on his face, not a blink or a frown to indicate any kind of emotional response; he’s just looking, considering what he’s seeing before he stretches out to set the device back on the stand.

“You woke me up,” is all he says as response, the tone so flat Dino’s not sure if it’s a complaint or a threat or simply an observation. Hibari moves in closer, sliding smoothly over the gap between them as the sheets slide off his hips and bare the long line of his legs, and even when he settles himself onto the blond’s lap Dino’s  _still_  not sure if he should be worried or not. He’s trying to get traction off the impossible blankness of Hibari’s expression when the other reaches out to rest his wrists at Dino’s shoulders, to press the tips of his finger against the blond’s shoulderblades, and whatever danger Dino may be in is neatly ignored by the reflexive response of his body to the featherlight touch. His skin flashes instantly hot, his breathing catches in his chest, and however beautiful Hibari may have been asleep he is a thousand times more so now that he is awake and moving, turning his head to consider the side of Dino’s neck like he’s determining the best points of attack.

“That bite is bruising,” he notes. He sounds cool, calm as he points out the fact, but the words call up the memory of Hibari’s lips flush against Dino’s skin, the dig of his teeth while Dino was too overheated for it to feel like anything but pleasure.

“Bruises are fine,” Dino says, somewhat recklessly given that he still isn’t sure if Hibari is mad or not. “I thought you were going to bite me to death, but I’m still pretty alive.” He risks reaching out to touch Hibari’s hips, a glancing touch rather than a hold; he’s learned quickly not to restrain Hibari in any sort of context, if he’s hoping for anything less vicious than a true fight.

“For now,” Hibari agrees. The gliding pull of Dino’s fingers across the tops of his thighs seems to be acceptable; he’s not pulling away, at any rate, and while Dino may have the head start on arousal Hibari’s not far behind.

“I guess I should make the most of the time I have left,” Dino observes. He can feel a smile pulling at his mouth, amusement making its way into his expression, and for just a moment there’s a flicker of something at Hibari’s lips too, something that is almost a smirk before it vanishes.

“You should,” Hibari agrees, and then he’s crossing the space between them before Dino has a chance to react, catching his teeth at Dino’s lip without waiting to appreciate the friction of their mouths together. Dino submits without considering resistance, opens his mouth in an invitation which Hibari takes almost immediately, sliding his tongue in against the roof of the blond’s mouth as the hands at Dino’s shoulders close into a hold and Hibari leans in to bear him down to the bed.

Dino could resist. He doesn’t. Going backwards means Hibari is lying on top of him, if only for a moment, the expanse of his pale skin warm and radiant against Dino’s chest. It also has the advantage of pinning their hips together, pressing Dino’s length in against the angle of Hibari’s leg and hip and gliding the rising heat of the other’s cock over Dino’s stomach. Dino resists the urge to drag Hibari in against him, to roll them over so he can pin Hibari to the bed and kiss him the way he wants to; he’s willing to wait, to exert patience to see how the other directs this instead of trying to wrest control for himself.

Hibari pulls back almost immediately. He’s licking his lower lip, idle movement like he’s considering the taste of Dino’s mouth on his, and his hand at Dino’s shoulder is pressing in harder and bracing. Then he rocks up onto his knees, that one hand making his third point of contact, reaching over the end of the bed for the nightstand and the bottles there.

“Kyoya,” Dino starts. The name brings Hibari’s chin down, his gaze focused on Dino’s as he rocks back over his heels, this time with a bottle of lube in hand. “I can do it for you.”

He’s half-hoping the other will accept his offer. There’s something sensual about the idea of working Hibari open under his own fingers, about toppling the other back over the sheets and stretching him open until he’s flushed and incoherent. But Hibari shakes his head, quick negation as he has every time Dino has offered, and when he opens the bottle it’s to slick it over his own fingers.

“Put on a condom,” he orders, his tone the steady assurance of obedience from someone who has never had his rule questioned. It shouldn’t be a turn-on -- Dino has never thought of himself as particularly submissive -- but maybe he does kind of have a kink for this, or maybe it’s just that everything Hibari does is offhand seduction, that even the steady gaze of his eyes looks like temptation when he ducks his chin to look up through his hair at the other.

Dino rolls over to do as he’s told. The possibility that Hibari is avoiding having an audience doesn’t occur to him until he’s turning back with a foil packet held between his lips, rolling over onto his back before he tears it open. Hibari’s rocked up on his knees, leaning in over his wrist in a way that ought to be awkward and just looks artistic, his head tipped so far forward Dino can’t see any of his face except for the breathless part of his lips as he breathes in time with the motion of his hand. Dino can’t quite see what he’s doing; the angle is all wrong, Hibari’s arm twisted in so the blond can barely even see the flushed hardness of his cock pinned in against his stomach for the barrier of his wrist. But he can see the deep breaths shivering across the other’s shoulders, the tiny involuntary motions as he rocks in closer against his hand, and Dino’s hands are shaking as he gets the wrapper open so he can unroll the condom around his aching cock.

Hibari is still shifting when Dino has the barely-slippery latex around himself. Dino knows better than to duck in to try to see his expression -- he really does want to do more than start a fight, this morning -- but he does reach out to skim his fingers against Hibari’s hips, to feel the shiver of reaction hum out into the other’s skin as Dino shifts his fingers. He sits up to get closer, shuts his eyes and ducks his head against Hibari’s shoulder so he can focus. With his eyes shut he can pace his breathing to Hibari’s, can catch the suggestion of friction from the catch in the other’s inhales. When Hibari rocks in the motion bumps him against Dino’s arm, accidental contact that lingers in spite of Hibari’s usual aversion to sustained physical contact. Dino is breathing deep, gasping inhales in time with Hibari’s near-soundless pants, and then there’s a touch at his shoulder, a shove knocking him back with the aggression that says what is to come far better than Hibari’s declaration of “Enough.”

He’s leaning in, now, his face close enough for Dino to see the color of his eyes under the shadow of his hair, enough that the blond can see the tiny tremble of adrenaline in the shape of Hibari’s lower lip. Dino’s staring at that, trying to keep the raw admission of want all across his expression to a minimum, when Hibari looks down and wraps his fingers around the base of Dino’s cock. There’s a moment of expectation, pressure hot with promise and too still for satisfaction; then Hibari tilts his hips, takes a breath, and when he rocks back to take Dino into him the heat is so much it blows Dino’s attention all away for a moment. There’s satisfied friction rushing through him, pleasure and heat in equal parts, and he doesn’t mean to groan low and purring but he does anyway, the sound sliding up his throat without conscious effort. There’s a sound over him, something that is half a gasp and half a cut-off laugh, and then Hibari moves again, before Dino has had time to collect his composure. Dino’s hips come off the bed, reflexive reaction as much as the gasp of his breathing, and this time Hibari  _does_  laugh, a low chuckle as he shoves at Dino’s shoulder to hold him down. That’s warning in itself, now that Dino knows to look for it, and then Hibari’s legs tighten against his hips and he begins to move in earnest.

He sets a steady pace. It’s slow, smooth and unhurried while still being just over the edge of barely too much, until Dino can’t regain his initially lost restraint and is left to groan against the bed, to jerk up in instinctive attempt to meet the slide of Hibari around him. Even when Hibari lets his bracing hold at Dino’s shoulder go to close his fingers tight around his own length his rhythm doesn’t falter; it is Dino who can’t catch his breath, who can’t stop angling for more even though it gets him no discernable variation in the other’s movements. When he looks up he can see Hibari’s expression, the elegant lines of his features gone superheated with sensation, but even then he keeps steadily rocking his hips, fucking himself on Dino’s cock with so much grace Dino has no question about who is being used.

He doesn’t mind. If this is what being used is going to feel like he can hardly complain, even less so when Hibari’s head tips back so his face tilts into the morning sunlight, his eyes sliding shut like he’s trying to reach for a half-faded memory. His hair falls smooth over his shoulders, the beginnings of tangles from sleep slipping loose of the fine strands until it looks styled into perfection again. Dino stares at the line of Hibari’s throat, the sharp edge of his collarbones shifting under his skin, and then he’s sitting up without thinking, reaching to press his mouth to that glow. Hibari doesn’t shift, doesn’t look down as someone else might; if anything he tilts his head back farther, lets Dino press his mouth to the taut line of his skin without resistance. Dino keeps his eyes open, lets the full impact of the moment hit him: the clean metal-brilliant taste of Hibari’s skin under his lips, the line of Hibari’s shoulder shifting before his eyes, the sound of Hibari’s breathing slowly speeding as he moves. Dino’s whole body is flushing hot, like the sunlight is lighting him on fire, and if he shut his eyes or ducked his head he might be able to push off the pleasure a little longer, delay the satisfaction another moment or another heartbeat.

He keeps his eyes open. There’s no point in fighting the pleasure, at least none that he has ever found, and it’s better this way, better to draw back an inch to watch Hibari’s expression fall into lines of focused attention as he moves, better to feel the wave coming for him and let the leading edge catch his breath stuttering in anticipation. When it hits him the pleasure is a smooth as the slide of Hibari around him, rippling out warm and satisfied into his body until it’s hard to draw boundaries on it. There’s just the heat, purring under his skin like sound formed around the shape of a heartbeat, and Dino is quivering against Hibari’s shoulder, forgetting the rule of delicacy to cling to the other’s hips for a moment. Hibari is still moving, still rhythmic and as smooth as if he didn’t notice Dino’s moaning gasp of orgasm; then he takes a sharp inhale, the way he does when he’s preparing for a fight, and when his hand jerks it’s as sudden as the motion of his weapons. Dino looks up just in time to catch the way Hibari’s face goes slack, all the usual taut attention under his features going blissfully still for a moment; then Hibari’s shuddering, his mouth open around a soundless moan, and he’s coming more across Dino’s hip than over his own fingers.

Dino falls back to the bed without being pushed this time. He doesn’t need Hibari’s urging when the soft support of an outside force offers comfort to the languid satisfaction in his limbs. After a moment Hibari’s hand pushes at his hip, bracing his own movement rather than keeping Dino at arm’s length, and then he’s moving away too, only offering a faint hiss of reaction as he slides free. Dino rolls over, reaches for a tissue to wipe himself clean and catch the condom as he slides it off, and by the time he looks back up Hibari’s got the camera in his hands again. He doesn’t  _look_  angry, exactly, but Dino is rapidly learning that Hibari doesn’t give much warning when he  _is_ , in truth, so he’s careful as he stretches back out across the bed, lying flat on his back so Hibari can take advantage of contact if he wants and avoid it if he prefers.

“You can delete those if you want,” he offers, while Hibari is still flicking through the pictures on the camera. “The lighting was too good to pass up.”

Hibari glances sideways at him, a quick cut of silvered blue that Dino can’t read at all. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Then he moves, falls back across the bed with such unerring precision that his hip bumps against Dino’s, the soft of his hair catching on the blond’s shoulder without Hibari needing to move at all. Dino looks down, startled into unconscious affection, and Hibari’s arm comes out over them and pushes the capture button.

He doesn’t even look at the resulting picture before he tosses it at Dino. “Don’t delete that,” is all he says; then he’s rolling away again, offering the curve of his back for Dino’s consideration rather than even the non-expression of his features.

Dino stares at his shoulders for a minute, a little lost and still trying to catch up to Hibari’s words. Then he looks down, the camera he missed catching safely cradled in the blankets, and picks it up to scroll through the recently captured photos.

Given what came before it, Dino is expecting Hibari’s photograph to be dimmer, less golden-glowing with the inadvertent perfection of the early frames. It is not. It looks deliberate, posed with none of the telltale awkwardness of a structured image, striking while retaining the candid unconsciousness of true art. Hibari is staring dead at the camera, his eyes fixed on the lens and the faintest hint of what might be a smile at the corner of his mouth. The morning light has caught Dino, too, turned his hair radiant and his mouth shining damp, and the way photo-Dino is looking at Hibari is all accident too, warm and fond in a way Dino couldn’t deliberately reproduce if he tried. Even the obvious line of Hibari’s arm holding the camera just makes it more artistic, grants it the truth of unstudied grace that highlights the tiny perfections in the photograph into something breathtaking.

“Wow,” Dino says without looking away. “This is the best of them, Kyoya.”

“I know,” is all Hibari says.

Dino glances up from the camera. Hibari hasn’t turned around, isn’t looking over his shoulder or even suggesting a smile in his tone. But his arm is shifted higher on the bed, the gap it creates almost awkward with the suggestion of invitation, and the sunlight is catching off the curve of his waist like it was intended to draw Dino’s eye.

Dino smiles, safe where Hibari can’t see him, sets the camera back on the desk and slides in closer to fill the gap Hibari left for him. There’s no protest, vocal or physical; there is just Hibari falling into place against his touch, the sound of an exhale that might be relief and might just be an ordinary breath.

“I want a copy of the last one,” Hibari says, perfectly clearly.

Dino huffs a tiny breathless chuckle. “Okay.”

When Hibari’s fingers land against his wrist to briefly tighten into a hold of almost-affection, Dino knows better than to say anything about it.


End file.
